Gambol and Japes
by queen-sheep
Summary: The store hasn't changed one bit. The wooden shelves and tables are still standing in their exact same locations, prank goods stacked haphazardly on top. The edges have all been worn smooth by many hands running over them over the years. —george, and an old prank shop


_For QLFC S5 - Round 2_

* * *

A soft hooting at his window is what wakes him. George moans and draws his blanket tighter around him. The night before had been muggy and warm, but the morning is a chilly one — caught right between spring and summer, neither one nor the other.

The hooting gets louder, and more judgemental. George fumbles around the bed for a pillow, then chucks it into the general direction of the noise. There's a flurry of wings beating furiously, and a loud, insulted screech. The envelope lands on his hardwood floor with a sharp crack. Even though the he knows he's in their (his) flat above their store, he's instantly alert, heart pounding in his ear. George wills it to calm down.

 _My name is George. I'm in my flat in Diagon Alley. I'm safe._ He repeats the words like a mantra, fingers trembling against his blanket.

His heart settles a little, but he isn't going to be going back to sleep anytime soon. George tosses the covers off and goes to retrieve the abandoned letter. Tearing it open, he finds a single sheet of paper with a time and an address.

Despite himself, his mouth twitches up into a fond smile. He climbs out of bed and gets ready for the day.

.

It's a quiet morning in Diagon Alley. The post-war atmosphere is solemn. People are still mourning over their loved ones' deaths, still emerging out of that oppressive regime. George walks unbothered through the streets and comes to a stop in front of an old, wizened building, squished between two towering buildings. It's painted a bright, garish orange with blue trim, just the same as it was ten years prior. _Gambol and Japes_ , the signage declares. Although the window sign reads 'Closed', George pushes open the door and shuts it carefully behind him. The bell jingles merrily in turn.

The store hasn't changed one bit. The wooden shelves and tables are still standing in their exact same locations, prank goods stacked haphazardly on top. The edges have all been worn smooth by many hands running over them over the years.

"There you are!" a creaky voice booms from the back. "Get in here!"

George drops his coat on the counter and hurries over to the small kitchen slash living room in the back. He finds Old Man Japes carrying a pot of tea over to a round table. The old man props his cane against the table and lowers himself into the chair with a pained grunt.

"My joints aren't are good as they used to be," he mutters. "Sit." Japes gestures to the other, mismatched chair. George takes a seat, pouring two cups of tea for them.

"I haven't been in here in a long while now," George chuckles, feeling oddly sentimental. "Everything is still the same."

Japes grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling into crows feet. "I still remember you and that twin of yours sneaking in here in secret. The riot your mum made after catching you buying Filibuster's fireworks with your textbook money!"

The corners of George's mouth twitches up into a smile. They had slipped away from their family while shopping for their first year supplies. Gambol and Japes had been the first store they ducked into to hide from her wrath. In the end, she made them return the fireworks, but Japes had slipped them into their bag with a wink as they left. They had gotten grounded two days later for setting them off at dinner time.

Slowly, the sun climbs up towards the sky. The two of them finish the first pot of tea, and George goes and rummages around the kitchen to make a second one. When he returns, he finds Japes staring contemplatively at the cookie tin.

"Ah, well, you don't need an old man like me anymore," Japes says, but his tone is light. " You've got your own joke shop, and a successful one at that. Running me out of business after everything I've done for you."

George winks at him, taking his seat again. "The student must outgrow his master. You need _something_ to keep you on your toes, after all."

"I've got enough on my plate already," Japes grumbles good-naturedly. "I'll be retiring soon." He then takes a sip of tea, as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb in Geoerge's face.

"Oh," George says. He stares down at his own cup of tea. "Why though?"

"I'm getting old," he says simply. "It's about time for me to pack up. Spend the rest of my years with my daughter and grandkids."

A heavy silence sits between the two of them.

Old man Japes leans forward, fingers loosely cradled together. "Do you know why I called you in here today?"

George looks up, curious. "Er — to chat?"

"Well, yes, I suppose. But I'm leaving this store to you." Japes waves his hand around, motioning towards the large kitchenette and the store right beyond the door. "I don't have a need for it anymore. But you do."

George feels a sudden wave of panic claw it's way up his throat. He hunches into himself. "I— I can't. Not without Fred. I can't do it alone."

Japes watches him silently, his eyes sad. "So are you going to give up everything the two of you worked for now that he isn't here?"

George shakes his head. "No, I'm not, but," he stands abruptly, chair screeching against the linoleum, "I have to go."

"I'll see you out," Japes says. He grips the head of his cane, rising with a pained grunt. In an instant, George is over at his side, steadying him.

George lets out a long breath. "Careful there, old man."

Together, they walk back through the store. George notes the weathered wooden tables, the discoloured wallpaper, the dirty floor. His mind runs ahead of itself. He sees Japes turn his head away just as he looks back, his thick moustache lifting in a smile.

"Think about it," Japes says, standing by the doorway. "My offer still stands." Then he disappears inside.

George walks back to his flat, thinking. His step feels just a little lighter than when he first came.


End file.
